


Account of a Monte Cristo

by vanillafluffy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bullying (offscreen), Childhood Trauma, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Male Bonding, Protective Steve, Steve Cooks, Steve is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: A homemade Monte Cristo sandwich is the perfect antidote to a terrible, no-good very bad day, but first Steve has to help Charlie through that day.





	Account of a Monte Cristo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkmoore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/gifts).



Everybody knows you can’t make a decent Monte Cristo without Swiss cheese. He has the perfect ham, good turkey, the right bread, and a whole jar of primo raspberry preserves--but the only cheese in the house is the crappy prewrapped wax slices from the supermarket. Danny and the kids eat that stuff, but he won’t, and certainly not on what would otherwise be a world-class sandwich.

Steve has his head in the fridge, inventorying ingredients, when the landline rings. His first thought is if it was anything important, the caller would have rung his cell, which is resting on the kitchen island next to a loaf of Texas toast and the pancake mix he likes for the Monte Cristo batter.

“This is Mrs. Carpenter calling from Royal Palm Point Elementary School, and--”

That’s Charlie’s school, and Steve grabs the phone. “What’s wrong with Charlie?” he demands.

“He’s fine, he isn’t hurt, but he had a little trouble on the playground, and he needs to go home and clean up.”

“I’ll be right there.” Pausing just long enough to grab his cell and lock up the house, Steve bolts for the car. He and Danny are taking turns on a stakeout, and Danny probably has his phone turned off.

This is why they’d decided to alternate shifts--granted, they’ve always enjoyed their time together on those long vigils, but with two kids who are young enough to need adult supervision, having one parent available at all times is important.

Steve drums his fingers on the wheel as he passes a sedan whose driver is taking her own sweet time. He should have asked the lady what “a little trouble” meant. Got into a fight? Crapped his pants? Fell into a mud puddle? There are a lot of things that might apply here…but she said right off he wasn’t hurt, so no use inventing disasters. Right?

There’s a bench in front of the school, with a woman and a child sitting on it. Steve recognizes Charlie, who bolts from his seat to throw himself, sobbing, at Steve as soon as he’s out of the car. The boy isn’t just a little dirty, he’s filthy, and smells like an especially pungent crime scene.

The woman with him looks at Steve with disfavor. “You’re not Mr. Williams,” she accuses him. 

Steve struggles with an urge to wipe that pissy look off her face. “I’m Commander Steve McGarrett. Detective Williams is my partner. My cell number and his should be in Charlie’s emergency contact information.” He doesn’t usually pull rank like that, but why the fuck hadn’t they called his cell? More important, what the hell happened to his kid? “Hey, buddy, what happened to you? Was there a class field trip to the dump that I didn’t hear about?”

Charlie’s wails increase, and Steve scoops him up. They’re both going to need to clean up and get fresh clothes, but the boy calms slightly with his face buried against Steve’s collar. 

“Charlie, do you know this man?” the teacher asks, moving closer. What? She thinks she’s going to snatch him away from Steve if Charlie says no?

“He’s Daddy Steve,” sniffles Charlie. “Can we go home?”

“Real soon,” Steve promises. He glares at the woman, who takes half a step back. “What happened to him?”

“A few of the older boys put him into the dumpster during recess. But he isn’t hurt, the school nurse checked him out--” 

“They did what?!” She takes another step back, looking alarmed. “Show me,” he growls.

She leads the way, maintaining what she probably thinks is a safe distance, although at the moment, he’s so furious that Maui might not be far enough away. 

Steve is coordinated enough to hold Charlie in place with one arm while taking pictures on his phone with his free hand. “You have two choices,” he says. “You can keep the top of the dumpster padlocked during the day while students are here, or you can install an eight-foot chain-link fence around it and keep that locked.”

“Sir, that’s not up to me, that’s up to the School Board.”

“Does the School Board want a giant lawsuit on its hands?”

“I want to go home!” Charlie’s anxiety is shrill and outweighs the jackasses of officialdom.

“Right now.” He heads back toward the car, calling back over his shoulder. “Tell the School Board they really don’t want to fuck with me--I have the Governor on speed-dial.” Getting the last word in is even better than pulling rank.

“I said a bad word,” Steve says, making sure Charlie’s buckled securely into his car seat. “Don’t tell Danno, okay? And don’t repeat it--for at least another ten years, you hear me?”

Usually, Charlie isn’t a cry-baby, which makes Steve wonder what else is going on. Go home, clean up, feed the kid lunch--and since he’s out and about, he can snag some decent cheese--see if he can coax more details out of him about the schoolyard bullying. Who would do something like that to a quiet five-year old?

“Why are we stopping?” Charlie screams when Steve parks in front of the deli. “We can’t stop! I need to go home! I need to go home _right now_.”

“If you need to use the toilet, I’m pretty sure--”

“I need to go home! I need to get clean! I don’t want to die!”

Whoa, what? “Who said you were going to die?”

“Everybody.” The tear-stained face that looks up at him just about kills him. He always wonders if this is what Danny looked like at the same age: wide-eyed, blonde hair going in all directions-- “In the hospital, they said not to get dirty or I might get germs or infections and it would mess up my transplant and I’d die.”

“When you got your new bone marrow, you mean?” Charlie nods, still looking fearful. “When you were in the hospital, it was very important for you to stay clean. But that’s all over now. You’re strong, you’re healthy…I wouldn’t want to go dumpster-diving either, but it isn’t going to kill you.”

“That’s why they put me in there,” Charlie says, shoulders hunched protectively. “I used my hand sanitizer after I got off the swings and Yoshi said I was a clean freak and it would be good for me to get dirty.” After a moment, his passenger asks, “Do you think I might get superpowers?”

That sounds so much like something Danny might come up with that Steve grins. “Depends on what kind of toxic waste the cafeteria serves, I guess. But just in case, I’ll give you a few pointers on self-defense--right after lunch. I need to pick up some cheese, and I need you to help me pick out the perfect flavor of ice cream.”

“Strawberry!” Charlie looks infinitely more cheerful.

“Excellent choice! Strawberry it is.”

By the time they get home and get cleaned up, Steve is starving. He gets to work on lunch, explaining the process to Charlie, who has some reservations.

“You like French toast, right?” Steve asks, knowing full well that the kid can practically eat his weight in French toast. “This is like French toast married a club sandwich and this is their baby. I’ll let you try some of mine, and if you don’t like it, I’ll make you a plain old grilled cheese. How’s that?”

Charlie is agreeable. Steve cuts the completed sandwich into four manageable triangles, giving one to Charlie with a side of raspberry preserve, and digs into the rest. 

The Monte Cristo is a tower of tempting savory meats, oozing Swiss cheese from between its pan-grilled layers. The crispy batter offers a delicate sweetness, enhanced by the tartness of the preserves. 

Steve’s midway through his second wedge when Charlie finishes his and says, “That was good!”

“You want some more?”

“Yes, please!”

Steve pushes his plate with the fourth piece of heaven across the table and gets up to construct another sandwich. 

He isn’t surprised when Charlie only makes it through one triangle of the second sandwich--he’s slowing down himself by the time he’s finished a total of four triangles. He picks at the last piece, because Monte Cristos don’t reheat well, but he’s reached what his mom used to call “the chipmunk stage”--he can chew, but he can’t swallow.

“Now what?” he asks Charlie. “Ice cream? No? Okay, ll be there later when we want it. Self-defense lesson? Because right now, you could probably kick my butt…or maybe we could watch a movie and let things digest for a while.”

They’re both in accord with that idea, so Steve pops _Kung Fu Panda_ into the player, and they settle into the recliner. Charlie is on his lap. Steve remembers watching old movies with his dad this way…anything about World War II, anything with John Wayne, _The Bridge on the River Kwai_.…

When Grace Williams gets home, she finds crumbs on the dining table, dishes in the sink, and her little brother and second dad dog-piled in the LaZ Boy, snoring as a kiddy movie drones in the background. Wistfulness for the her childhood in Jersey flares momentarily; she and Danno used to watch sports like that. And _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_. Wow, she hasn’t seen that in forever. Maybe she should get Charlie a copy.

She lets them sleep, even after the credits have rolled. She wipes down the table so she doesn’t wind up with crumbs in her laptop. Tomorrow’s English assignment is crucial, and there are too many attractive nuisances for Grace to concentrate in her room. But first, she needs a sandwich. 

Oooh…and some strawberry ice cream.

_…_


End file.
